Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

A few minutes later, Magnus walked through the familiar and spacious halls towards a pair of large ornate doors. Two guards stood either side, garbed in the uniforms of the royal guards—the king's personal mages.

The two men were stone-faced as he approached, merely nodding slightly in greeting. It seemed that they were already aware he would be meeting with the king at this time.

Without a word, the nearest guard moved forward and clasped the handle of the over sized door, wrenching it open with ease and revealing the throne room large throne room beyond.

A roll of red carpet paved the marble floor, trimmed with gold. Ornate stone pillars were placed on either side, spread evenly through the aisle, creating an extravagant and thoroughly excessive sight.

Magnus' expression remained impassive as he calmly walked through the empty aisle, his eyes focused on the small raised platform whereupon a lavish throne sat.

Natural light flooded the room, causing the gold gilded rug and various expensive looking items to sparkle conspicuously, yet he was not impressed. In fact, such a display felt tacky, almost as if they were trying too hard to impress people.

Yet Magnus kept his thoughts to himself, maintaining his practiced calm and collected exterior for those present. Despite his pace being rather brisk, the length of the aisle was quite a distance.

Therefore those present upon the raised platform had already noticed his arrival.

"My king," Magnus said, approaching the lower step and kneeling down upon one knee. "I have returned from Newhold."

"Mmm, rise my son." The king's deep voice rang out, its timbre echoing within the somewhat desolate throne room.

Magnus did as he was told, raising his gaze to meet with his father the king. The man was in his forties sporting a pointed blond beard that reached his chest. He had broad shoulders and seemed to be more of a warrior than a mage.

Were it not for the luxurious clothes and crown perched atop his head, one might not even recognize that this man was the king himself.

King Maxwell's intelligent blue eyes scanned his son intently, as if he were scrutinizing him. Yet there was a certain care hidden beneath the surface, one that Magnus was not unfamiliar with.

"How did it go? Were you able to get some useful information out of the cultists?" the king asked, his expression remaining steadfast.

At his question, Magnus felt his mask cracking slightly.

"Unfortunately, they were quite tight-lipped…" he replied, trying to retain his bearing.

"Truly unfortunate…" A figure beside the king lamented, letting out a small sigh. His high-pitched voice quite grating to the ears.

His thin frame and overly ostentatious white robe were unsettling, particularly when one knew what they entailed. In his sixties, the man looked frail—however the violet ring that glowed beneath his white sleeve was evidence of his personal power.

This was Tyrell Abrams, one of the two Cardinals for the Arcane Church—and one of the king's council.

"Perhaps we could have assisted with the interrogation," Tyrell said, his wrinkled face showing an obvious regret. "We are quite proficient in such arts after all…"

Before Magnus could reply, the king raised his hand, stopping him. "You said they were tight-lipped, but I assume you have your own assumptions. How about you tell us your theory."

Magnus nodded, "My king, I have reason to believe that these cultists aren't operating alone. From all the evidence, I find it extremely unlikely that they were able to coordinate an attack on both Claywall and Velmara at the same time—especially with their numbers."

A few murmurs rang out from the other council members, but no one interrupted him.

Seeing that his father still wore his usual expression, Magnus continued. "They appeared sloppy, almost deranged… Like someone had messed with their minds or something."

"They are crazed demonic cultists, Magnus. Of course they would be deranged." Tyrell interjected, his high voice carrying a bemused tone. "After all, what person in their right mind would want to summon a demon from the abyssal realm?"

The man's interruption was annoying, but Magnus did his best to keep his composure, not wanting to show his anger in front of these powerful men.

"So you think they were merely pawns? Set to take the fall?" The man on the king's right questioned, his blue eyes gazing intently towards him.

This man was the king's brother, Markus. He looked similar to the king, but he was clean-shaven, his shoulder length blond hair parted in the middle, giving him a refined look. There were some frown lines upon his face, but he could still be called handsome, despite being slightly past his prime.

"I can't be sure Uncle… But I have a feeling that even though we captured this group, the real enemy might still be out there—waiting for us to let down our guard." Magnus admitted.

"Can you give any evidence of this?" Markus asked.

Magnus felt his heart sink, realizing that he was making too many assumptions. This was probably his uncle's way of reminding him of this fact.

"This is merely speculation on my part, but all I can do is report my honest opinion based on what I saw." He stated, letting out a breath before continuing, "All evidence points to the Black Night group completing the ritual sacrifice and collection of souls in Newhold, yet we have no evidence or confession to tie them to what happened in Claywall and Velmara."

He was hoping that this fact alone would at least cast some doubt upon the culprits, but it didn't take long for someone to interject.

"The investigation has taken far too long as it is, our people are beginning to doubt our ability to protect them within our own kingdom. We must release a statement and declare these cultists as the culprits for all of the rituals, or the current order might be at risk…" A third man spoke up beside the Cardinal.

Samuel Thomas, the patriarch of one of the elite houses in the kingdom. He was a respectable looking bespectacled man, the only one dressed in a suit. His ashy white hair was eye-catching, yet his thin nose and angular features made him appear shrewd.

"I agree," Tyrell added, "the church has received the concerns of many citizens in the past three months all over the continent."

Magnus and the other three councilmen present turned to the man with the most authority in the room, waiting for his verdict. They could debate back and forth until they were blue in the face—but it was this man who would make the final decision.

King Maxwell tapped his fingers rhythmically upon the arm of his throne, his eyes focused solely upon his son below. Two minutes passed without a response, yet no one dared to speak and interrupt the man.

Under his gaze, Magnus felt nervous, yet a small bud of hope remained. He hoped that his father would heed his warnings and consider the fact that their could be an even larger threat at play.

Then the king sat up, his expression unwavering. "Release the news that the culprits have been executed and that the kingdom need not fear any more attacks."

Magnus's heart sunk, feeling his hope fizzle out in that moment.

But his next words brought him back to reality.

"Increase our patrol of the mana springs and mana sources in a five hundred mile radius of the capital. Enlist the help of the minor noble families or mage guild if need be."

His words were said with a finality that allowed no refusal, yet Magnus felt his relief manifest in that moment.

"Yes, King Maxwell." Those present chorused out in unison.